


A Bittersweet Moment

by ArtificialStupidity



Category: The Dalemark Quartet - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 17:38:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5834662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtificialStupidity/pseuds/ArtificialStupidity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mitt and Maewen reunite years after the fall of Kankredin. Both have been changed immeasurably by time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bittersweet Moment

**Author's Note:**

> A very old story, which I transferred from FF.net and tightened up a bit. Originally posted on FF.net in November 2007.

He didn't smell like Mitt. Maewen hadn't even realized, until now, that she had missed the way he smelled. Before, he had smelled of horses and gunpowder and sweat; she pressed her face against his chest and let the scent of his old leather jacket overwhelm her senses, so that she wouldn't have to think about how much he had changed. She held him tight, her fingers digging into the leather against his neck and feeling the worn patches (how long ago had he gotten this coat? Before she'd even been born, no doubt) and remembering the clothes she had seen him in at the last, after the battle, before he had handed her that damned statue. Stroking his hair, the same hair upon which she had once laid a crown, centuries ago.

She could feel his breath soft against her hair, his chest solid against her cheek, his arms wrapped protectively around her. She wanted him never to let her go.

He didn't bother to ask why she was crying, didn't complain about the wet marks her tears left on the front of his jacket. They had both faced unbearable grief when Maewen disappeared, and though he had certainly suffered longer (two hundred _years_ , Maewen thought, her mind circling through the familiar disbelief and awe), she had felt no less devastated than he. Afterwards there had been all that time after the fall of Kankredin, all that time that Maewen had spent looking for Mitt, when every day she had known he was still alive but had not known how to find him.

It had taken her eleven years to find him again.

"Maewen," he whispered into her ear, for the thousandth time. It was Mitt's voice, almost exactly as she had remembered it; yet at the same time it was older, rougher, more world-worn. No doubt he thought her a tiny bit more world-worn, too; she certainly wasn't a girl anymore, and Maewen knew it showed in her appearance if nothing else. She laughed against his chest, a small, shaky, half-controlled giggle, closer to hysterics than mirth.

Mitt pulled back a little, tilted her chin up to see her face. Wet tracks glistened on his cheeks. She hadn't realized that he had also been crying. "What are you laughing at?" he asked, an uncertain smile beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth in spite of the look of concern on his face.

"Eleven years," Maewen whispered, her voice hoarse. "It was only supposed to be four. To allow for inflation, remember?"

He chuckled, a gravelly sound that she didn't remember. "I'd forgotten about that. Maewen, that was eons ago. Things didn't turn out nearly the way I thought they would."

She thought of how he had staged his death as Amil the Great, after discovering that he was one of the Undying. She wondered what it felt like, that moment when you realized with utter certainty that you were going to live forever, that you would never know the peace of death. She had seen the actions to which that knowledge had driven Wend, had seen what he had become. Mitt must have seen the transformation, too; he must have been there every step of the way, watching Wend grow bitterer over the decades, waiting until everything finally came to a head at the Tannoreth Palace. How could she selfishly begrudge Mitt an extra seven years afterwards if it could make things better for them both?

Even so, Maewen knew that she would not live forever, like Mitt would. They could marry, and have children, and weave their lives together for years and years, but no matter how old Maewen became, Mitt would never age; and then one day Maewen would die and Mitt would keep living. Forever. She wished they had spent the last decade together, but she thought she understood how he might have wanted her to have those years to prepare herself for their meeting, to come to terms with the fact that no matter how much they loved each other, she would be gone before he knew it.

The knowledge hurt. But no matter how short her life might be in comparison to his, she wanted to spend it all with him.

"I love you, Mitt," Maewen said, infusing the simple statement with a promise to him.

He understood. "I'll love you forever, Maewen," he whispered. She believed him.

And forever, for Mitt, is a very long time.


End file.
